Darkest Jade
by MoreRefinedThanMost
Summary: Spamano AU. Antonio would never do anything to hurt Lovino. Never. But when Lovino does something so awful, so unforgivable, he barely escapes in time. This is a dark fiction, by which I mean the subject matter could be sensitive to some readers. Rated M due to language and violence, and whatever else readers may want me to toss in.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I WAS HIROYASUYUMI. I was deleted, along with all of my stories, without any sort of explanation. Isn't that awful? Well I somehow found time to write a Spamano, and it's my first. I will do as I am bidden- It's up to you, the reader, what will happen next. Please either PM me or leave a review with your suggestions. Headcanons you want featured? Tell me. You want smut? Tell me. More dark Antonio? Tell me. Thanks for reading!**

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><p>"<em>Bastard."<em>

Never had he thought his ears would bleed quite like this. It was practically his name, all he ever seemed to be called unless they were fucking. It used to have such a pleasant ring to it, said with such a warm feeling behind it, even as the other fought his feelings. But not this time. It was as if he'd been spit on with acid. Chilling, gut wrenching, blood curdling.

And Antonio hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, he _knew_ he hadn't.

But he'd never seen Lovino suffering from guilt, and apparently that entailed hurling the most vulgar insults he could come up with.

"_Culatonne."_

Antonio thought, after surviving that one, that he could handle anything. But then—

"_Tu sei il cum tua madre avrebbe dovuto ingestione."_

You are the cum your mother forgot to swallow.

Just like that, Antonio snapped.

"Shut up, Lovino! _Shut up!_" He was positively fuming, red from face to ears to chest, fists clenched, _everything_ clenched, and shaking shaking shaking.

"You don't tell me what to do, bastardo! You don't own me! I'll do what I want! I'll do _who_ I want!"

It burned. Burned so awfully. Antonio clenched his jaw, any lingering warmth in his jade eyes vanishing in that brief millisecond. "Get out," he said quietly, eyes narrowed and voice gravelly.

"...What?" In an instant, Lovino was himself, amber eyes boiling with feeling, just as they always seemed to do.

Antonio nearly faltered, but he forced it down, grinding his jaw instead. "_Get out_." He gave the other a light shove in the chest, but Lovino might as well have been launched from a cannon. He stumbled over their clothes on the floor, forgotten from their last rut. Antonio didn't break eye contact, that stare more chilling than a Russian winter, as he grabbed one of Lovino's shoes and launched it across the living room to the door. Then he reached down again to do the same for it's match.

Then he stopped himself. He grabbed a different, beat up sneaker and threw that to the door. He wanted Lovino to feel the shame, the shame of being kicked out looking like a street rat, eyes on him in disgust. "Was I not enough for you?" he snarled, tossing his curls out of his face as he stalked closer to the brunet.

Lovino scrambled, slack-jawed, to stand and back his way towards the apartment door. He'd completely lost his tough skin, completely lost whatever suit of armor he'd been wearing when he had to face Antonio's wrath. He knew the other had been onto him, and he had tried to prepare himself for the confrontation, to protect himself, make the Spaniard swallow his tongue, but it had backfired.

_Severely_.

Antonio's lip curled, all disbelief having disappeared. All that remained was the volcanic furiosity that threatened to erupt in ways he would regret. Suddenly, every little thing that hadn't added up in the last weeks, the strange hair on the Italian's clothes, the weird smell that lingered around him when he finally came home after "working late", the unfamiliar pair of underwear in the laundry, the lack of condoms, of _affection_, the way he wiped out his internet history, all of the cancelled plans, suddenly it all made _a lot of fucking sense._"Leave!" he snapped, voice echoing ominously. "Now. Before I—!" He was seeing red. Why hadn't he realized it before? It was happening in _his own god damned apartment_. If Lovino didn't get out, he'd...

Strangle him

claw his face

rip out his hair

make him bleed

His muscles were tensing, his fists clenched. The intention was written clearly on his face, and Lovino's eyes widened."I'll do it," he warned icily. Only his eyes portrayed how much he might regret it. It was an out of body experience. Soon he'd be moving mechanically, and even if his mind knew he didn't want to do it, didn't want to be so cruel to a man he'd loved like this, he knew that he would not be able to stop himself.

Antonio didn't know when it happened, but suddenly he was running to the door, which closed mere milliseconds before he slammed his fist in to it. Then he threw the lock, the chain, the dead bolt, pounded the wood, splintered it, but gained no satisfaction from how it rattled in the frame.

He screamed brokenly, not able to find words in any language he knew to express to himself, or anyone for that matter, exactly what was happening to him.

Lovino paled on the other side of the door, hurrying down the hall. He'd made a grave choice, doing what he'd done... Saying what he'd said...

And while Antonio might come to forgive him some many eons from now, Lovino knew that he would never see him again.

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><p><strong>AN: Alright. Well. There's the first one. I hope you enjoyed it? I don't know. I mean this is a pretty deep one and I personally think it's sad. So is enjoy even the right word? Well. If you have the time and the heart, let me know what you think! Feed the writer with words. I love constructive criticism.**

**"Culatonne" is Italian slang. It literally translates to "ass bandit" but is considered a highly offensive slur against homosexual men. 7/10 times, being called this ends in violence in Italy, no joke.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I would like to think that the OOC-ness of Francis and Gilbert won't be too bothersome. I personally have rarely read the BTT in situations that were truly serious, and I believe that _everyone_, fictional or otherwise, is at least a little out of character when the shit hits the fan.**

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><p>"<em>Living together is the true test in a relationship. You'll always want to know where he is when he's not with you, you'll see how great he can be, and how awful. All of his bad habits, all of his quirks, the physical signs, the emotional signs, how he sleeps, and how much he really needs you... If you can make it through a single month, mon ami, you'll have accomplished something."<em>

Tch.

Antonio rolled his eyes as Francis's words crossed unbidden through his mind.

What bullshit.

They'd made it so much longer than that. Shouldn't that have meant that they were a formidable couple?

It had felt so right, to have their clothes in the same drawers, their toothbrushes next to each other, even though that idea had originally turned Antonio off. The one shelf in the shower that held all of their shampoos and conditioners. The wine glasses they had each brought that shared a cabinet...

_The wine glasses._

Within seconds he was bounding out of the bathtub, the only place they hadn't consecrated during their cohabitation, and striding to the kitchen. He threw open the glass-paneled cabinets and snatched one of the gold-gilted glasses and brought it down over the kitchen cabinet.

He stopped, near millimeters from the counter's edge.

He couldn't. Not to Lovino's. He shoved a hand through his hair frustratedly. Somehow, in the loss of his religion, he was able to stop himself. But he wasn't going to be unsatisfied. He shoved his arm into the cabinet and swept all of his glasses forward, slowly at first, then losing all care and swiping them down and out until it was a rain of shattering glass.

Some pieces tinkled, some hammered, onto the marble countertop, the hardwood floors...

The sound was deafening.

Antonio was instantly addicted. He reached into the next cabinet, where they kept their everyday drinking glasses, and again contemplated breaking _his. _Yet, as before, some piece of him simply wouldn't allow it.

That only made him angrier.

He grabbed a juice glass and threw it down on the counter, shards flying. Then a coffee mug. Then plates, bowls, more glasses...

Throwing

Slamming

Crushing underfoot

So loud

Echoing

_Silence._

Ears ringing.

..._Phone ringing. _Antonio was suddenly very aware, with the help of adrenaline. He walked right through the fragments, cutting his feet, but he didn't seem to feel. He picked up the cordless phone, but didn't speak a word, just panted into it.

"...Tonio, where are you?"

The voice came softly.

Then from the background, "Fuck, don't ask that question! He's clearly home! Ask him what the fuck is wrong!"

Antonio closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowed roughly.

"Antonio Fernandez, I know you are there, mon ami, now answer me. What's going on?"

He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

"Are you still there?"

He nodded, then finally tried to speak. "I-I..." His voice cracked, much like the corpses of less-than-fine dining in his kitchen.

"_Oh, Bon Dieu." _

"I was right, wasn't I?" Gil barked. "I told you. He'd never stand us up like that. Give me the phone. Give it to me." He snapped his fingers irritatedly, holding out his hand. Antonio could hear the muffled voices, the rattle of the phone being passed from one hand to another.

"Toni."

His chest was heaving, he realized, and his face was wet, and so was his chin and down his neck.

Gilbert's steeled expression faltered on the other end of the line as he experienced the most splintering sounds he'd ever heard from his friend. He hadn't even known that the Spaniard was capable of such...

"We're on our way."

Antonio head a door slam, and he slid a hand down his face, over the new scruff on his jaw. The bags under his eyes made him appear sickly, exposed just how little he'd slept in the past... He didn't know. He had no idea what day of the week it was, what day of the _month_. It felt like years.

"Toni, we're coming," Gilbert said again, a note of panic clawing in to his voice. _This isn't awesome. _He couldn't even try to lighten the mood. He knew his normal douchebag behavior would just backfire with the state Antonio was in.

"Stay on the phone with us," Francis chimed in.

'_Hands free on,' _the car droned in the most lifeless English in existence.

"I told you," Gil muttered for a second time.

Antonio's thumb crawled over to the "end call" button.

"Don't hang up," Gilbert said.

Another inhuman sob.

Antonio hardly realized it was him making such a god awful ruckus.

He strode through the kitchen, again crunching the grass under his feet.

Francis's knuckles were turning white from his grip on the wheel. He didn't know how to console Antonio, without knowing the situation.

He had a pretty good idea though.

"I tried to tell you, Gilbert. I knew he wasn't there just for a visit, and so did Ludwig and Feliciano."

The two spoke in Spanish, for Antonio's benefit. It was clear that the other's brain would be able to process little else.

The brunet poured a hefty amount of tequila into a (somehow surviving) coffee mug from the back of the cabinet, taking a long drink from it. He was quiet now, aside from his shallow breathing. He made his way back into the bathroom, stepping subconsciously over the castoffs from the medicine cabinets and sink tops and shelves that he'd slammed onto the floor, and climbed down into the bathtub, which was only covered in a thin top sheet. There were a few plastic cups with various liquids littering the edge of the marble tub, but no evidence of him ever having eaten.

Suddenly, he noticed a red ink spot blooming onto the sheet. He laughed somewhat manically.

"We're almost there, Antonio," Francis said, mistaking the sound.

Gilbert knew that noise, however, knew that it didn't mean anything good. "What have you done?" he asked quietly.

"It seems I've hurt myself," Antonio said rather nonchalantly.

"Jesus Christ."

Suddenly there was knocking, and a door rattling, but the sounds didn't really register. "Toni, you need to let us in," Francis said.

"Okay."

He didn't move.

Gilbert shoved Francis aside and fished out a key from his wallet.

"Quoi...?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Of course I made a copy of his key." Just for things like this. He'd learned that he would always need to be prepared for the worst. He shoved the key into the lock and gave the door a hard shove, but the chain...

"Toni, you have to come take the chain off."

Antonio moved mechanically, limping a bit, to the front door where he oh-so-slowly slid the chain out of place and let it hang off of the door jam, hanging up the phone..

He stood there, breathing, before finally stepping aside, hiding behind the door. He shouldn't be letting his friends see him this way.

Francis and Gilbert stepped in, diamond-like fragments crunching, and stared at him in shock.

The silence was heavy.

No one moved.

After some time, Francis pried the door knob from Antonio's finger and closed the door, mentally noting where it was splintered as he locked it. Gilbert brooded, hands in his back pockets, eyes scanning the disarray. Overturned coffee table and chairs, knocked over glasses and houseplants, remains of a joint on the carpet by the TV, emptied tequila bottles, wine bottles, all over the place, and the kitchen... All of it stung the eyes to see.

The Prussian was at a loss, unsure of where to start. Antonio had seen the two of them at their lowest, cared for them, took the brunt of their anger when he'd done nothing wrong, but this... this was the first time they'd seen him like this.

"Tonio, you're bleeding."

This caught Gilbert's attention.

"Go get the first aid kit from the car under the seat," Francis said. "Toni, you need to sit down."

Antonio led the way to the bathroom, where the lights were off, and fell into the tub. The Frenchman peered into Antonio's bedroom from where he stood, swallowing roughly. It looked like a murder scene, sans the body and blood.

Francis heard something squelch under his foot, but was afraid to look down. Bracing himself, he turned on the heat lamp by mistake, but he didn't need anymore light than that. He could see where products had leaked into thick puddles, and strange rust-colored streaks on the tile. He carefully picked his way through the small space and put down the toilet seat lid, coaxing Antonio to turn so he could place the Spaniard's feet into his lap. He gingerly touched them, feeling the shards, how some were merely caught on the outer layer of skin, and where the other one's had bit inside.

"It's going to hurt when I take these out and clean the cuts," he murmured softly. His expression portrayed nothing but nurturing, but his eyes projected how mortified he was of the situation.

Gilbert returned with first aid kit in hand, took a look at Antonio in the tub, and sighed. Not his idea of an awesome night with his two best brothers. Yet he knew that not everything would be awesome, all of the time. And he knew he would need to be serious.

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><p><strong>AN: Despite my previous disclaimer, I am looking into how to better portray Gilbert. If anyone is willing to direct me to some fictions that they feel displays this side of him, please do so. I aim to please. And just as I stated in the previous chapter, let me know if there are any head canons you would like to see. If I can find a way to sneak them in, I will. And if you want something specific to happen next or have any ideas on Antonio's darker side, let me know.  
><strong>

**Thanks for reading!  
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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm not sure how long this story is going to be, or even if there'll be a resolution. I really would appreciate someone else's input. This was more centralized around the Bad Touch Trio, at least in this chapter. If this suits you, then I'll do some more. Otherwise, please do let me know any feelings that you have when you're reading, any ideas about the situation... etc, etc. Thanks.**

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><p>Antonio slept fitfully in the bathtub. Francis had taken the thin blanket out of his trunk, bringing it to lay over top of the other. If there was one thing Francis gathered from the mess of the environment and his friend, it was that the brunet did not want to be physically reminded of who he'd spent the last two years loving.<p>

"Gilbert, should we try to clean up a little?" Francis asked, moving gingerly through the war-zone that was the kitchen and living room.

The Prussian looked up from where he was checking voicemails and taking notes. "Toni hasn't been to work in five days," he muttered. "Apparently he managed to send an email to his boss, but he said he'd be returning that following day. His boss is laid back, thank God."

Francis nodded, lips pursed. "Anything else?"

Gilbert paused. "One from Feliciano."

"Oh?"

"An apology, it sounds like, but it's his idiot brother who's at fault. Says he has no idea who Lovino had been with, but won't find out unless Antonio wants to know. I... I think we should delete this one. Toni might just... do something crazy to whoever this person was... and I doubt that the other person even knew that Lovino was taken."

The blond shook his head. "No... Tonio talked to me once, a month or so ago, about finding undergarments that were neither his nor Lovi's size... I told him there might have been a mix up with Feliciano's laundry. But I think that says that Lovino brought his... _friend_ back here, and it's obvious that more than one person lives here. Couldn't have been that oblivious."

Tiptoeing to the small hall closet, Gilbert pulled out a broom and dust pan and returned to the kitchen area, sweeping along the way. He put on a pair of gloves from the first aid kit in an effort to protect himself, and, following suit, Francis and Gilbert began to deal with the broken glass.

"It's not even worth trying to sweep," Gilbert groaned exasperatedly. "We need a vacuum or something... Too many little pieces."

"He's finally asleep after who knows how long, _Gilbért._ Vacuums aren't an option right now. You do this, and I'll start wiping up the blood and whatever other sticky substances are seeping on the floor." His nose crinkled just a bit, but only for a moment. The aftermath of "the blow up", as he and Gilbert had taken to calling it, wasn't exactly disgusting... It was like a large piece of warped art, a huge mess, and an extreme representation of when life just had to take a kick to one's testicles.

He stepped gracefully over Gilbert and peered under the kitchen sink, pulling out some disinfecting wipes. When he stood, he looked over the countertops and the cabinets.

"I would have punched through the cabinet doors," he thought aloud.

"What?"

Francis shook his head in a disappointed fashion. "He broke perfectly good wine glasses. I would have just punched through the glass panes on the cabinets."

Gilbert shrugged as he stood to dispose of the first round of the glass remains. "I... I don't think I would have broken anything. Just kicked a lot of shit and screamed a ton."

"Everyone mourns differently. I just did not expect Antonio to—"

"Why would Lovino do something like this?"

That shut both of them up. The Spaniard's light snoring breathed through the dark apartment. Francis, for lack of anything to say, simply turned on the second bank of dim lights, fixed under the cabinets.

He sighed. "Je ne saurais jamais."

Gilbert wasn't satisfied with that response. "All I can think is what he must feel like. Had it been me who was ch–... cheated on... I wouldn't be quite so angry... More sad, I guess... To know that I hadn't been enough for my lover, that all I had provided for him was a place where he could bring other people to fuck around with..."

Antonio clenched his jaw, perfectly still. Thin apartment walls. He couldn't decide if he hated them, or appreciated them. It was unsettling, how spot on Gilbert was. Antonio knew his friend was understanding, underneath it all, but not like this.

"Arthur cheated, once..."

No sound, not even a gasp.

"With an _American._" He spit out the last word as if it were poisonous. "He was on a business trip, for a conference. They went out for a few drinks. More than a few. Arthur pocket dialed me at two o'clock in the morning. Need I say more?"

Gilbert shook his head. "I don't think Matthew would ever... Ever do that to me. At least, I hope not. I'd like to say he doesn't have it in him, but it's not an issue of if he's strong enough to cheat. It's if he's weak enough."

Antonio swallowed. Cheating as a weakness. It infuriated him, seeing it that way.

"I think," Francis started. He scratched the bit of scruff on his chin and reached into his pocket for a light. He knew Antonio wouldn't mind. He took a short puff and let the smoke rise out of his mouth as he spoke. "I think if we knew for sure whether this was a one time deal, or if it was an affair, we would be able to tell more. I just want to understand, for Tonio's sake."

A part of the Spaniard wished to understand as well.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading the third chapter! You rock.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is a short part. I just wanted to get something out of my system. The story will continue as before, but if you, the reader, should desire more interludes like this, let me know. I can cook something up for you.**

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><p>"<em>U-unh, mio Dio, Toni—"<em>

_His hand tightened just the slightest bit on the Italian's neck, the door rattling in its frame with their movements. _

"_My whole name, Lovino."_

"_I-I just wa... I need to cu..."_

_Antonio knew what he needed, with how the other was red right through his chest and ears, how he clenched so hard around him, not so much threatening as warning of what he was going to do. The Spaniard shook his head. "Say it and I'll let you."_

_With every little squeeze he gave to Lovino's cock, he could feel it twitch between them. He would never actually hurt Lovino, but the other didn't know that, and that's what made it so god damn exciting for them._

"_Antoniooo..." he whimpered._

"_Eso... Asi me gusta..."_

_Lovino writhed against the door and Antonio's body, feet crossed behind the other's back as he rode him as much as Antonio would allow. The other finally stopped squeezing Lovino's cock, instead pumping it so damn hard it almost burned and then he was— and Antonio was—_

_Coming_

_So hard, oh_

_Oh my god_

_Drowning_

_So much_

_Lo cazzo ti amo_

_And Antonio had to fight to keep his legs from buckling, to keep both of them from tumbling to the floor, and the door should have ripped off of its hinges by now with how hard they'd fucked against it and it was almost always so good, almost always a good fuck and Lovino loved how Antonio fucked him and sometimes Antonio got this scary look in his eyes, so intense, and it freaked Lovino out but he got so hard from it—_

And then, there came a time when Antonio had been too rough.

Had thrown Lovino face down over the edge of the table, used his arm to sweep all of the dishes from dinner onto the floor, yanked his pants and underwear down, and Lovino was already hard as a rock but he was also scared shitless because earlier they'd been fighting, yelling, so loud, absolutely cruel to each other and Lovino had given such a low blow, saying how he'd had so much better and how Antonio was too goddamned careful all the damn time and it made Antonio suck at fucking

and then Antonio had proven his worth and Lovino came so hard he didn't even feel guilty that he'd said what he'd said because this was what he wanted it was all he'd ever wanted and it hurt so good

And that was the last time they'd fucked each other before Antonio found Lovino out.

All the brunet wanted, as he pondered from the bathtub, was another shot to show that he could be crazy and rough, he could hurt him the way he wanted to be hurt, whenever Lovino wanted it.

Suddenly, he felt that he truly was the one who'd done everything wrong, when in reality, he wasn't. Not at all.

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><p><strong>AN: I hope you enjoyed that. That is not how I normally write smut. Not at all. But I wanted to test it out anyway.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Seriously looking to wrap this up. If you want another chapter, then please submit some Constructive Criticism, or even more preferably, what you want to happen. Do you want smut? Yea or nay? Fluffy? (Which would be a challenge as I am not accustomed to fluff) Rough and dirty? Kinks? TALK TO ME.**

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><p>Gilbert puttered around the now clean kitchen, opening cabinets like a man on a mission. He'd find the jar in one of them, he knew.<p>

Francis eyed him over the back of the recently righted couch, extinguishing his less than satisfying cigarette in the ashtray he'd molded out of foil. "What are you looking for, slamming the cabinets like that?"

"Etwas zum kiffen ," Gilbert said distractedly. "Ah-ha!" He pulled out the glass jar labeled "Thyme" and unscrewed the lid, taking a whiff. "Ja..."

Francis quirked a brow, and Gilbert threw a somewhat put-out look at him. "You ought to give it a try."

The blond shook his head.

"Well, this is a strong part of Spanish culture, so... At least go wake up Toni. He could use a break."

Francis conceded and went to the bathroom, which was now dry from mopping. "Toni, Gilbert wonders if you want to... how do you say... _fumer le weed_?"

Antonio opened his eyes slowly, red from exhaustion. "Sí..."

Watching how Gilbert and Tonio bonded over it, it made Francis want to try again. His first experience hadn't been... satisfactory.

"You two smell like skunks."

They howled with laughter, eyes watering, and Gilbert even whacked himself in the knee. It made Francis grin. "Share," he said, sticking out his hand.

"Get me the tequila," Gilbert said, still giggling, as he passed it on.

They were a riot down on Antonio's rug. Gilbert lay face down on it, an empty shot glass in his hand, rubbing his cheek on it.

"Tonio, your rug is so nice...! Ha ha! It feels good and I feel good."

Antonio grunted after tossing back another shot. "You should try having sex on it."

Everyone grew quiet.

Francis's eyes widened. It seemed they'd entered a minefield. He met eyes with Gilbert, whose mouth slowly turned up on one corner. Gilbert then looked at Antonio, who suddenly sneezed somewhat explosively, and they were all in stitches again.

The phone rang, but none of them could stop laughing long enough to pick it up. It sat unanswered on the floor between them.

"_Hello, you've reached Antonio Carriedo and Lovino Var—"_

"_No talking when you're stupid! This is Lovino and Antonio. We can't come to the phone right nooOOOW!"_

Sudden hysterical laughter from a nameless Italian. Then, in the trademark tone,

"_If you'd like to leave a message, please press one, or wait for the tone."_

The three quieted enough to listen.

There was some soft breathing, clearly strained. Clearing of the throat, and a rough sniffle. "_Toni... I wanna come home..."_

More breathing, but not steady in the slightest. "_Please... Please can I come home now? I'm sorry... I-I'm sorry, I'll nev— Never do it again, I _swear_, I _swear _I won't, I just need you I need to come home and be with you and just—"_

There was a beep, and none of them knew what was going on until they saw that Antonio was holding the phone to his mouth. He was shallowly breathing into it.

"_Antonio, are you there?"_ His voice cracked at the end.

Antonio listened. Gilbert and Francis had nothing to offer, to tell him to say.

"Yeah... I'm here."

"_Let me in. Let me make it up to you, I won't do it again, I swear I won't."_

He nodded, then realized that the other couldn't see it. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow you can."

Lovino gasped. That wasn't what he was expecting. He was outside of the building _now._ Ready to try again, this time when Antonio was sober enough to understand that someone was knocking. But now he had to wait. He knew better than to complain.

"_When tomorrow, amore? When tomorrow?"_

Francis looked at the clock. It was two in the morning. He held up ten fingers, then two. "Comprends?" he ased softly. "Noon."

"Noon tomorrow," Antonio said, then promptly hung up.

Gilbert and Francis released a collective breath.

"Francis, brother, how did you learn to trust Arthur again?"

"He came home and confessed, after I'd been so sickeningly sweet to him all day long."

"But you know he won't do it again...? How can you be sure?"

Francis sighed. "Because I made it a point to show him why we had ever made love in the first place."

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><p><strong>AN: Wellp, there's the end of that. I'm done writing sappy sad stuff. Do we want to end it here? Or do we want smut? I think some smut is a nice way to patch this wound. Thoughts?**


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